Returning to work after the festive season has marked my journey as an itinerant trucker from self-martyrdom to apostasy, or in layman terms, getting the work-life balance right. As a jobbing lorry driver working through Christmas and New Year is an occupational hazard. If you haul consumables, chances are you’ll have done some shifts in-between your turkey dinner and amateur-drinking night at the local pub, whose landlord has miraculously replaced all the glasses with plastic alternatives that split even when you just think about taking a mouthful of the insipid craft lager contained within. If you shift anything associated with construction, days start to blur from one to the next as déjà vu déjà vu moments start to occur between Harry Potter films on ITV2. Please, feel free to insert your own transport sector, repetition gag and film credit accordingly. For me, it was construction (already mentioned) and The Hobbit-ses. Clambering into the cab for the first time in two weeks always brings a swell of emotions. As a newly-married tramper time spent with ‘the immediate family’ veered from fantastic to fraught, as the novelty wore off and it began to feel like I was going against the norm. Spouses separated physically for the majority of the week tend to lead separate lives, with weekends consisting of shopping, a night out and packing the bag with clothes and food for the next week (at least it did for me initially before parenting duties took over). Being married to a tramper cannot be easy with a family to raise, which was something I was oblivious to for too long.
Once married with children there was a feeling of elation at getting an extended break through the festive period. Today I recognise it was misplaced as that relief had more to do with the job at the time than a chance to spend time with the family. I had a terrible job hauling all manner of dry goods up and down the country, pushed to and beyond the limits each and every day without gratitude other than knowing I’d be paid at the end of the week. I know, it’s my job to drive lorries up and down the country delivering all manner of dry goods but even the most hardened capitalist must appreciate the effort put in by the workforce. After all, I’d seen Scrooge on the tv and in real life. Finishing on Christmas Eve knowing it would be the New Year before I drove up and down the country delivering all manner of dry goods again, I came home and broke down in tears. I couldn’t explain the relief. Being at home for longer than one night, not having to feel the wrath from the transport office or the boss, not having to manipulate the hours to make up lost time and distance, I couldn’t tell anyone as I didn’t know myself. The wife misread the signs, she took it as me being pleased to be home, and maybe I was but it wasn’t for the right reasons. I didn’t say anything, why would I, as a bloke I wouldn’t know where to start let alone justify it. I vowed not to go back but that was an empty promise to myself. I wept more in the cab on my return because I knew that money was more important to the family than my happiness, which was selfish. By the time the next Christmas came around I was employed somewhere else. The money wasn’t as good. Something drummed into me by the wife constantly as she struggled to make ends meet. But I was in a much better place, at least while I was working. Now the trouble started when I went home. This time finishing on the Friday before Christmas, which was the following Tuesday, and going back in-between for two days before finishing again ahead of New Year wasn’t a chore. It was a welcome break from the family and the rows over money. My wife made her points loud and clear as I left for work. She, with the kids, entertained her parents as I sat at the Western Docks in Dover waiting for the French rail ferry to dock with a trailer bound for Welwyn Garden City (the one and only time I have ever been there). The bitter arguments that New Year and subsequent unease was the beginning of the end of our relationship, which then took a couple of years to play out before she had the courage to finally say ‘enough’. After that, I threw myself into work, if only to avoid the cold stark reality of my situation and by default the duties as a divorcee parent of three growing children. I thought ‘the job’ would save me. Delivering the necessities and essentials to those that required them would give me the sort of satisfaction of a job well done, of people in offices thankful the latest delivery has arrived saving all and sundry from a fate worse than having an empty shelf because I did my job. It was my thankless task of atonement to keep everyone afloat. And that could justify my absence from the lives of people I had responsibility for, after all, they never went short of money. The extra hours paid for impressive gifts that would light up their Christmas day in my absence. I believed it. In those moments when I was alone with my thoughts, when I really had to justify my isolation on the edge of the A1(M) with each passing car crammed full of people and presents rocking my air suspension cab from side-to-side, I wanted to believe it more than anything else in the world. It took a thinly veiled warning, or a timely reminder if you want to sugar coat it, from my eldest to remind me of where my priorities lay. It didn’t matter what I bought with the money I earned working the sort of hours only lorry drivers have to work, my self-imposed martyrdom was little more than a mask. Nothing is more valuable than time spent in the company of loved ones. Gradually, and with a lot of effort and help, I have managed to rebuild my relationship with my family. Friends, the current Mrs Secret Trucker, and support from professionals, all deserve much of the credit. The hardest thing for me was confronting my family and admitting that I had got it wrong. These days delivering construction material means the festive period is essentially a shutdown. For two weeks I get to spend quality time with the current Mrs Secret Trucker, to visit the children and spend time with their children. Today I see Christmas through the eyes of my grandchildren and enjoy every moment of it. Going back to work is now where the disappointment kicks in, which is how it should be. Once behind the wheel, it’ll feel like I have never been away. Sure, job satisfaction is important but so is life outside of work.
1 Comment
29/4/2024 14:32:00
Very high and nice post. Tankers for hire" refers to vessels available for transporting liquid cargo, typically oil or chemicals, across maritime routes. These tankers range in size and specialization, offering services to industries requiring bulk liquid transport. Companies in this sector provide diverse fleet options, accommodating various cargo types and shipping needs. Tanker hire facilitates efficient global trade and logistics, serving industries reliant on the seamless movement of liquid commodities.
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